Sir Benjamin gasped and was dumb, gazing in rapt astonishment at the vision of gracious loveliness that had dawned so unexpectedly upon his startled vision, this tall and splendid woman (thought he) this truly magnificent creature,—this proud and stately gentlewoman whose serene glance seemed to rebuke his wide and oafish stare. Sir Benjamin felt at a loss as they rose to greet her.
"My lady," said Adam, "pray permit that I make known to you my old friends, Sir George D'Arcy and Sir Benjamin Trigg. Gentlemen—my lady Perrow who sails with us for rescue of her ... husband, lord Perrow, better known to us as Captain Absalom Troy."
Never had Sir George's bow been more courtly, never Sir Benjamin's broad back more supple or eloquent legs more expressive of the powerful emotions that stirred him.
"Your ladyship's very humble servant!" murmured Sir George.
"Madam," quoth Sir Benjamin, "the same, though ten thousand times more so! My lady Perrow, your advent, so unexpected, smites me dumb! Your gracious presence aboard this ship glorifies its every timber with a ... as I say a glory far beyond my poor telling, a delight past my powers of expressing,—madam, I am speechless!"
"And yet—so extreme eloquent!" she retorted and laughed, whereupon they all laughed, and none more heartily than Adam.
"But," said she, "I'll out on deck to feel this sweet wind and watch Jamaica fade in distance, for ... who knows if I shall ever see it again?"
"Ay, do," said Adam, crossing to his desk, "I must work awhile."
So, away she went with Sir George to bow and hand her forth into the air and Sir Benjamin to flourish and proffer his arm, though the ship was steady enough, and neither of them to recognise the one-time swaggering young Anthony in this beautiful and gracious lady. But presently to Adam, busy with map and charts, back came Sir Benjamin to stamp and puff and fume until Adam turning, enquired:
"Eh, Ben, what now?"
"George! Damme, he chatters! Let me perish, I say sink me in blood if I can get a word in edgewise! He chits and he chats,—first of our sufferings in the accursed boat, then of our bitter, shameful slavery aboard the damned galleasse—and she, magnificent creature, wasting her bewitchments, and heedless of her own beauty and my so manifest homage, hangs on his fool words and—myself perfectly unheeded! So, leaving George to weary her until she sigh for better company, I come to thee, old shipmate, and being here, would fain know whither we sail and what's our venture?"
And briefly Adam explained.
The legs of Sir Benjamin conveyed him to the nearest seat and there deposited him, whereon their owner sat to stare and, for the moment dumbly; then drawing deep breath, he exclaimed:
"San' Domingo? The chiefest and most potent city, castles and batteries! Black Bartlemy? The rankest rogue and pirate of 'em all,—pillage and plunder!"
"As you say, Ben."
"To rescue our friends,—this were good purpose and notably virtuous, but the means, I protest to be infernal, hellish and damnable! Must I consort with roguish dastards, hobnob with knaves, make fellowship wi' villainy and common cause with debauched rascaldom? Oh, horrific and most detestable thought!"
"And," murmured Adam, "'tis besides a very rich city!"
"Ha! Forsooth, here's some slight, I say some very pitiful small—amelioration.... Nay but—the lady Perrow? Will you carry so much o' beauty, wit and tender loveliness into these bloody perils, Adam?"
"She comes of her own desire and imperious will."
"Ha, a something wilful lady, eh, Adam? Yet she ventures her lovely self for rescue of her spouse! A right heroical lady! Ah me, a vastly fortunate man is Absalom Troy.... And here, praise Bacchus—cometh Jimbo with a bottle!"
"No, sah," answered Jimbo, bowing, "bottles on table, sah. Me come to say de suppah am sarve."
This night, the first of their voyage, supper was a glad and joyous meal, like many that were to follow; but when, with laughing curtsey and merry Good night, Antonia left them to their wine, she bade Caruna to bed and went to that lofty deck whence Adam was wont to command the ship, and sitting there, became a woman forlorn and very woeful, who looked up at the glory of stars through a film of scalding, bitter tears. And yet when at last Adam came on deck, as was his custom, to see that all was right with the ship, he started to the whisper of his name, and looking up, saw her laughing down on him from the poop railing.
"My dear," he murmured, "you should be asleep."
"Nay, I will not waste life, this precious time, in such idle fashion and on such night!"
"But surely this is much like other nights, Antonia."
"Is it, Adam?"
"No!" he answered, fervently. "Nights and days have never been so wonderful or time so precious as ... since you came ... back to me."
"Then now ... come you up to me, Adam—no, I'll come to you ... we will sit a while and look, as you once taught me to look, and marvel at God's handiwork."
"Nay but, Antonia——"
"Ah," she sighed, "have you no wish to bide with me ... this little while?"
"Ay, God knoweth I have."
"Then sit here beside me and with God above and all about us I will now tell thee something."
So down they sat, close together in the glimmering starshine; but she remained silent so long that Adam began to pinch his chin, glancing at her askance the while.
"Adam," said she, at last, "because I was thief and stole your book I am proud and happier than I thought to be. For in those close-writ pages I read a tale of such noble love ... so pure and selfless that it humbles me ... and yet crowns me with glory. Yes, I stole your Journal days ago,—thank God! I crept like guilty thief and searched your books and papers until I found it. And though I felt so guilty there was something delicious in such thievery as I went speeding slyly away with it, and my heart so beating I scarce might breathe. And when I was safe locked in my cabin, I sat looking at this dear, stolen thing and scarce dared open it. But—when I did, Oh then I forgot all else, the long years vanished as I read, and I was back where I belonged—with you, my Adam,—dying with you in the boat, suffering with you in your chains and slavery.... Ah, but what nigh broke my heart was the tender way you wrote of me ... my madly foolish choice,—and never, ah never one word of blame or bitterness or selfish repining! As I read I saw you suffer again, and because of mere, foolish me,—dreaming of what might have been, the deep happiness that would have been but for my folly,—such joy instead of cruel solitude and yearning emptiness. In the first hour we met I wondered at you, Adam; your tenderness and fierce boldness, your ever gentle care of me, your fearlessness of all men and all things,—and always this wonder grew in me and only when it was ... too late ... did I know this for the wonder of love. I thought I knew you in those days, Adam, but now—Oh, now that I have grieved and suffered and triumphed with you in those pages of your book, now indeed I know you for such man that I humbly pray God will suffer me ... someday ... in this life or the next ... to come home at last to the heaven of your dear arms."
With this she rose, suddenly, and before he might speak or stay her, she hurried away, leaving him more solitary now than he had ever been.
Up from placid ocean rose the great moon, rising in a serene radiance that paled the myriad stars and made a glory on the sea. Above him and around was brooding peace and a deep tranquillity, but in Adam's mind was storm and surging tempest. For Captain Penfeather, the Buccaneer, and man of fierce life and action, was at bitter strife with gentle Adam, this unselfish idealist and reverent son of Puritan sire.